


Étude: Waltz of the Candles

by xlydiadeetz



Category: Captive Prince - C. S. Pacat
Genre: Alternate Universe - Classical Music, Classical Music, Falling In Love, Fluff, Holidays, M/M, NYE!Étude, New Year's Eve, New Year's Fluff, No Angst, Pianist!Auguste, Sports!Damen, Violinist!Laurent, i did it, i promise it is only fluff this time, i'm proud of myself, they're so adorable, zero angst, Étude special chapter, Étude spin off
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-06
Updated: 2017-01-06
Packaged: 2018-09-15 04:16:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,440
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9218528
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xlydiadeetz/pseuds/xlydiadeetz
Summary: Étude's special NYE chapter.AKA Laurent and Damen celebrate New Year's Eve together.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Étude](https://archiveofourown.org/works/7746652) by [xlydiadeetz](https://archiveofourown.org/users/xlydiadeetz/pseuds/xlydiadeetz). 



> Hello, beautiful people.  
> Yes, I've come to you with a very short but very lovely NYE special chapter. I guess it's my way to say thank you and apologize for my delay with the chapters -- I'm trying to sort that out.  
> It wasn't my plan to write this, but I got inspired one night and said "let's just do it" so I hope you enjoy it as much as I did while writing! 
> 
> P.S. Chronologically, this is set after Chapter 21 of Étude. 
> 
> As always, thanks to Ellen, my amazing beta and Kelly my partner in crime, I love you both with my life. <3

Laurent rarely drank. He wasn’t a fan of it, and even during the strange occasions in which he gave in to have a cup or two of wine with a meal, it wasn’t like he was overly excited with it.

Most of the time, when he decided to drink, it was wine or champagne, the kind of sophisticated but bitter beverage that didn’t repulse his tongue but that warmed up his stomach and left him feeling tipsy and kind of loose. It wasn’t a bad sensation, especially when he had someone to share it with.

He never drank alone, but now that Damen was back into his life, he allowed himself to experiment a little. Alcohol wasn’t something he was very fond of, especially the strong smell of scotch and vodka, when it reminded him so much of his uncle. It reminded him of dark nights of being hit and punished over things that he couldn’t understand why they were wrong, and that Auguste insisted they weren’t, even if their uncle said the opposite. It reminded him of long looks and cruel touches and the most miserable man he’d ever met.

Tonight, however, he didn’t think of his uncle. He didn’t think about the things that crept into his nightmares, but he allowed himself to think of all the rest. Of the beauty he found in the world even through its dark peepholes. The beauty that not everyone saw either because they were oblivious to the magnificence of simplicity or didn’t care enough to give it the proper attention. Like art, like music, like the changing of seasons and the first edition books abandoned in tiny vintage second-hand libraries that still had a story to tell and was longing for someone to turn its pages again.

It was all, if one thought about it, very simple, and yet very beautiful. When something like that touched your soul, it was very hard to forget it. A good book, a good song, a nice photograph, a nice dinner with someone you esteem. Someone’s smile or laugh.

Laurent found himself saving a new memory, trying to register every minute of it and keep it within him. The way Damen moved his hands when he talked, emphasizing his point and ideas. The particular face he made when he was thinking of something, or looking for the answer to one of Laurent’s questions. The fact that his laugh was deep and rich and bubbly and kind of contagious after two cups of red wine. How his tongue sometimes tangled when switching between languages, and the falling of his long, dark eyelashes when he closed his eyes.

He had noticed all this, and before, a younger Laurent would have been embarrassed, holding back his emotions. Damen was attractive, it was impossible not to accept this. And what was going on between them was no longer a childish, unrequited crush; it was strong and reciprocal, it made him curious and happy but not really embarrassed, no. Not anymore.

Why would he be, after all?

The level of intimacy they shared was beyond any possible physical form, they had a way of understanding each other that was peculiar, and even though they both were unpredictable when it came figuring the other out, it didn’t mean it was constantly a puzzle. Their conversations wandered deeper each time, discovering new worlds together that Laurent never once thought could exist.

It was one of the best feelings he had experienced in his life. To have someone like that by his side, to have Damen, because he was himself, and Laurent liked him. The way Damen thought was so different from his and still they could find themselves reaching the same conclusions, laughing at the same jokes.

He never thought he’d find this, whatever it was. He never thought it could exist for him, too. For a while, he believed in the erroneous fact that it was an emotion and luxury reserved to people like his brother, like Victoria, and all the others that knew better than to hurt the people they loved the most.

But maybe he was wrong. It seemed he could be wrong about a lot of things, actually. Damen was one of them.

New Year’s Eve was another one. He’d never really understood the hype. To him, December 31 st and January first were common days like the rest of the 363 in the calendar. They weren’t special; it was just a number change. And it was kind of oxymoron to celebrate for a span of time that will probably fuck up at some point. To celebrate for facts and events that hadn’t yet occurred.

What about the people that didn’t make it to the end of it?

However, for a minute there, he had forgotten what day it was. He was so immersed in his conversation with Damen that suddenly the rest of the world didn’t matter.

Maybe it all depended on who you spent those days with, that made them special or not.

“Where are you?” Laurent asked. Damen, who had been talking, went quiet for a while.

When Damen left, it was different from when he did. He could see it in his eyes that he was finding his way back, and that half of himself was still there with you. Half of his mind was listening; the other half was lost in thought.

Damen smiled at him, his lips slowly curving into a wide smile, “I was just remembering.”

“What were you remembering?” Laurent asked, popping his head up on his hand.

They were lying on the floor of Damen’s apartment; it was all dark, except for the lights coming in through the balcony. It was around eleven, and they had been drinking red wine and eating cherries covered in chocolate after dinner. Initially, they had planned on watching a movie, waiting on the New Year by petition of Damen, but somehow in the middle they had gotten bored of it and moved on to talking.

He couldn’t remember exactly how the conversation had started, but it had turned some interesting ways. Like, for example, paradoxes and chaos theory, butterfly effect and time travel. If you went back and killed your grandfather, then you’ll never exist in the future, which means you’ll never go back in time to kill him. Which means you’re stuck in a paradox.

_ “So, you disappear,” Laurent had said, “Or maybe you drift from your universe to an alternative one.” _

_ Damen said, “Which means there’ll be two of you living two different realities depending on the different choices you took.” _

_ “Basically, but what there was an alternative universe for every different choice you’ve had to make in your life?” Laurent asked. _

_ “It’d be infinite.” _

_ “There must be a way, though, for those universes to connect. To meet at some point.” _

_ “It’d create more chaos, though. There can’t be two of you in the same reality; you’d create a cranny on time and space.” _

And from there, the conversation had changed to books, and films, and food. They talked about the things they usually never discussed. Wasn’t it weird, to discover that your lover enjoyed reading but not knowing what their favorite book was?

_ “The Friends I lost.” _

_ “The Lady of the Camellias.” _

That they loved to cook, yes, but you couldn’t recall their favorite food?

_ “Pasta.” _

_ “Sweets.” _

Their favorite film, their favorite color? 

_ “Red.” _

_ “Blue.” _

_ “Good Will Hunting.” _

_ “The Chorus.” _

Laurent and Damen found themselves talking out the small, cliché details they never had the chance to ramble about, not when they were younger and not as adults. Because it seemed they were always somewhere else.

And, where were they?

They were whispering softly, back and forth, their hands tangling together, playing between them. Laurent’s hands were always cold, but Damen didn’t seem to mind. After a while, they both fell silent. Content with just being close to each other.

It would soon be midnight, and the spell of their night together would probably break, but before that happened, Laurent had one more thing to say.

“Do you like music?” Laurent asked, quietly.

It was a question that had been lingering in the corners of his mind for a while. Although Damen had no musical talent, he wanted to know what he felt towards it. Laurent, as a musician, had never stopped to analyze and ask someone what they thought about it. Perhaps because he had such a hate-love relationship with it that he did not know how to hear it in the ears of other people.

But he wanted to know what Damen felt when he listened to Laurent’s favorite songs and composers. Did they feel the same? Was it too different, the world of someone who wasn’t a musician?

“I do like music,” Damen said, sitting up and reaching for his cup of wine.

Laurent lay back down; his golden locks sprawled on the wooden floor. He pulled on his sweater sleeves, trying to cover his hands from the cold.

“What kind?”

Damen looked at him with a funny frown, like if he was asking something dumb, “What kind? Yours, of course.”

That wasn’t the answer he was expecting, however. He thought of Damen, mentioning his parents’ collection of vinyl, listening to old rock and roll bands from the eighties. He thought of him, listening to the pieces in gala concerts with attention, taking Laurent to see  _ The Nutcracker _ , being the best friend of a pianist.

How did Damen feel, being surrounded by their world, Auguste’s and Laurent’s?

Laurent said nothing. He counted the seconds, again, feeling his heartbeat pulsing through every muscle of his body.

_ Yours, of course. _

“I can’t tell the difference between Tchaikovsky and Saint Saens, or Chopin and Debussy, but I can tell the difference between them and you,” Damen said.

Laurent sat up, their eyes met, their worlds were not colliding.

It was something else.

“When I listen to them, I don’t feel a thing. It’s tasteless, emotionless. I never liked classical music until I heard Auguste play,” he said, and it seemed like a confession. Damen had thought about this before. “And then…then, of course, there’s you.”

“I’m just a violinist,” Laurent said, because he felt like he needed to say something but he couldn’t think of anything else when his heart was beating so fast and he felt shudders down his spine.

“No, no you’re not,” Their worlds were meddling, like two different tunes. “You’re more than that, you’ve always been more than just that, and you know it. You make me feel…when you play, you bring color to my life, to our lives. Laurent, I can’t understand, I’ve never been able to understand how you can look at a piece of paper and produce such beautiful music, how can you take the old, tasteless notes and give them life, and spark. It’s amazing, you’re—amazing.

“Sometimes, it’s hard to understand you. I’ve spent a good portion of my life trying to get into your head, and maybe that’s a problem.”

Laurent closed his eyes.

_ Maybe you just have to listen. _

“But when you play, I feel like I finally get you. I can feel you, in your music. I—does that make sense? You frustrate me, you’re infuriating, but then…then you play…” He paused, looking for the words, and then very softly, he said, “Then you play, and you re-shape my whole world. You make me question whether I’m right or wrong, you make me feel things to an extreme and I can’t ignore them anymore. And I realize that I’m falling in—“

“Don’t,” Laurent said, snapping his eyes open, “Don’t say it.”

_ If you say it, the spell breaks. _

If he said it, the spell would break. And they would be back from their world to reality. If he said it, they’d acknowledge it, finally, what was happening between them. And if they did, they wouldn’t be able to unsee it. And when you love something, you must be prepared to lose it.

Laurent didn’t want to lose it. He couldn’t risk jinxing it.

He moved, crawling on the floor until he reached Damen. He took the wine cup from his hands and took a sip before putting it down. Ignoring the stunned look on Damen’s face, gently but with enough force, he pushed Damen onto his back.

He stared down at him, “It did make sense,” he whispered, and was conscious of his pulse on the side of his neck and the shudders on his back as he leaned down and kissed him.

Damen had always seen him as more than the violinist he was, he saw the good parts, the ugly parts, and he accepted them all. Damen didn’t judge him for the decisions he took, he just tried to understand him. And even when he had failed, perhaps, many times, he hadn’t left. He had stayed.

Laurent didn’t have any good response for that. Words failed him, his brain was not done processing, and until it did, this was the only think he was capable of. His body moved according to the heart, leaving the brain aside to its own reflection.

Damen wrapped his arms around his waist, and then with a swift movement, Damen was above him, smiling at him like nothing else mattered.

And maybe nothing did.

Laurent smiled too, a shy, soft laugh before Damen kissed him again, and Laurent opened his mouth for him. Sweater lifting up a bit, revealing a part of his fair skin that Damen didn’t hesitate to run his thumb across. Open mouthed kisses, full of intention and meaning, trying to say what they couldn’t with words, what Laurent had stopped Damen from saying.

_ I think this… _

_ Maybe… _

_ It could be. _

Damen’s touch was warm against his cold skin, his hand slid under his sweater, softly caressing up his stomach to his chest. Laurent let out a shuddered breath, and then reached up to touch Damen’s face. His palm softly against Damen’s right cheek, then his finger tracing his jawline.

_ It could be. _

And then, they heard it. The various screams of happiness, the excited yelps of people on the streets. They had forgotten the countdown.

Neither of them moved, and for a second, Laurent was invaded with profound sadness. It was over. The spell had broken, finally. Damen turned his head towards the windows of the balcony, and then back to him.

He smiled, and grabbed Laurent’s hand, then pressed a kiss to his palm and took it against his own chest. Laurent’s eyes widened, and he flushed. 

Damen said, “Happy New Year,  _ Vicomte _ .”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading!
> 
> You can find me on twitter as @princesgambit and on tumblr as @dearanemone


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